These Shoes Are Made For Dancing
by Twisted Twilight Tales
Summary: Bella Swan visits her father for vacation, only to find that there's a potential stepfamily on the horizon. Forks: 0, Phoenix: 1. But the stakes change when she goes to a costumed ball, and meets a prince. Forks surges ahead. But just who is the prince?


**"Twisted Twilight Tales" O/S Contest**

**Fairy Tale Chosen: Cinderella**

**Title: Shoes**

**Word Count: 7040**

**Rating: T**

**Pairing: Edward/Bella**

**Summary: A Ball? Are you serious? Alice, I don't have a thing to wear, and there's no way you're getting me out on a dance floor. And yet, here I am. **

**Disclaimer: Characters owned by Stephenie Meyer.**

**Shoes**

Summer vacation at my dad's. Should be okay, I guess. I haven't been over to WA for years, but I remember it as damp and green. That's really all that springs to mind.

I'll be glad to get out of Phoenix, for sure. Anybody with any money has a house in the hills they disappear to for as long as they can afford it over summer, it's so freakin' hot. Either that or you spend every spare minute of the day in a swimming pool.

And there's another thing, besides the temperature. Another reason to be glad I'm going away for a while. My Mom has a romance going that's progressed to the stage where her - what do I call him? Suitor? Lover? - is staying over nights, and I could really do without the smitten way they look at one another. I know Mom's serious about him because she's never even introduced me to a guy she's dated, never mind let one of them in the house. She's obviously decided I'm old enough and he's enough of a sure thing that it's time we three were all acquainted. Fair enough, but the other morning they showered together, and now I'm scarred for life. I _heard_ them.

So when I got the offer to go to my dad's I was eager to the point that I think Mom's feelings may have been a little hurt. You'd think she'd look forward to some romantic interludes without worrying that her poor daughter was in the house and being aurally exposed to the stuff of nightmares. I'm certainly looking forward to interludes of no parental dalliances.

Saturday afternoon I touch down at Port Angeles, and it's cooler by a good thirty degrees. Arizona's heat makes me so lethargic I become inert, and all summer I'm not far off dead. Washington: 1, Phoenix: 0.

Dad's there to pick me up and we finish the small talk in the time it takes to say, "How are you?" "Good." "How was your flight?" "Fine." "Your mother's well?" "Yeah, she's great."

When I was last here three years ago, on the way back to his place Dad said we'd stop in at the diner for something to eat. I soon discovered he stopped in at the diner most days, and he said it was so that he had a visible presence in the community. That was plausible to a fourteen year old, and I accepted it without question until I saw in the fridge and the cupboards that there was no food, and after some checking out of Dad's dietary habits I found out he couldn't cook.

"So, we going by the diner today?" I ask, not relishing the prospect of all that grease, but starting to feel hungry.

"No, we're going to eat at home," he answers, a little self-consciously I notice, and I wonder if he's had cooking lessons.

We arrive at his house, which is weatherboard and weatherbeaten and really nice, and he carries my bag up for me. To my surprise the room doesn't look exactly the same as it did three years ago. The walls have been painted, there are a few pictures hung about, and a strand of fairy lights. The bed linen is new and purple. Oh yes?

"It's a bit different in here. I hope you like it," Charlie says, and I nod.

"Yeah Dad, it's cool."

He goes downstairs and I hear him in the kitchen as I unpack my stuff, putting things in drawers, and finding hangers in the closet. I have no idea what could have happened to the bedroom, because my Dad is the last person to be watching homeshows and getting inspired to do a little decorating.

And then the plot thickens as a delicious aroma starts wafting up the stairs and through my open door. Is that - ?

Dad's standing there over the kitchen table, an oven mitt on either hand, grinning his face off. In front of him is a dish of home-made lasagne.

"No way!" I say, with a disbelieving snort.

"I hope this is going to be all right," he's muttering, as he fishes around in the cutlery drawer. "I followed the instructions..."

"Dad, it's _amazing_. I love lasagne," I assure him a few minutes later. "Did you make this from scratch? You'll have to give me your recipe."

"Well, actually - " he starts, and the phone rings.

He's gone through to the living room as he talks in a low voice so that I can't hear what he's saying, and anyway I'm busy trying to finish my plateful in order that I can have seconds, when I happen to glance up at him.

My mouth falls open mid-chew, and my brain grinds to a halt.

He's got a look on his face. And by that, I mean a _look_. I just flew over a thousand miles to get away from a parent gooey-eyed in love - and now here's another one? You've got to be kidding me!

Charlie finishes on the phone and comes back to sit across from me at the table. He doesn't quite meet my eye, and he's blushing. At his age!

"Is there anything you need to tell me Dad?" I ask, and he clears his throat and rubs at the hair on the back of his neck, and raises and lowers his eyebrows a couple of times before he says, "Well, no."

I give him about thirty seconds.

"So, when did you develop your interest in interior design?" I ask. "My room really is looking nice. Great color co-ordination. And some time over the last three years you went to cooking classes?"

He takes about another thirty seconds, but then he obviously decides to come clean.

"There's, ah, someone I've become friends with lately. She helped with choosing things for your bedroom. And she made this lasagne for you - I just heated it up," he admits.

"_Friends_?" I press.

He shrugs a little. "Maybe more than friends. Her name is Sue and she'd love to meet you. But Bella, if you're not comfortable with that - "

"Dad, it's been a long time for you. I'm glad you've found someone. And hey - she's a great cook! Way better than Mom, although the people who make tinned dog food are better cooks than Mom," I say. "That was her on the phone, right? Did you ask her to come over?"

Charlie is so relieved, I can just see it. "No, not tonight, since you just got here, but I will soon. She has a daughter around your age, and a son a little younger. Maybe you and Leah can be friends."

"A stepsister? And a stepbrother? Siblings after all these years as an only child?"

I'm teasing because I'm a little shocked.

"No, God, Bella, calm down. Things haven't gotten to that stage and I don't know if they ever will. Her husband died a few years ago, and she's not really considering marrying again, and anyway, neither am I. You're not going to have a stepmother..." Charlie says hastily.

Well thank goodness for that.

He never was much of a talker, so he hovers for a while as I wash up, and he dries and puts things away, and then he says there's a game on he's going to watch and asks if I want to watch with him. I tell him I'm kind of tired and I might just have a bath and read a bit, and that's the first day and night of my vacation. Out of nowhere three new people seem to have joined what was my little nuclear pairing of two, and I'm not sure how I feel about it. Dad looked goofy and cute when he was talking to Sue on the phone, so she must be making him happy. I just hope she's nice.

It's only a couple of days before she turns up and I get to see her for myself. There's a knock on the door, and when I open it there's this woman standing there, holding a casserole dish. It's got to be Sue. Don't tell me she's cooking all his meals! Haven't you ever heard of feminism, lady? We play this flickering eye game where she looks down at the dish and I stare at her, then she looks up and catches me and I look away, and when I look back she's the one who's staring.

"You must be Bella. I've really been looking forward to meeting you," she says.

She's a similar height and build to Mom, but she's Native American, with long dark hair and coppery skin. She looks young to be a widow, and I guess it's sad that her husband died, but there are lonely, vulnerable men around like my Dad, just ripe for predatory single women to sink claws into them...

I shouldn't really start off thinking like that. I should give her the benefit of the doubt. It's not like she's after my Dad's money after all. If she was she'd need to prepare herself for a meagre life!

"Would you like to come in?" I offer, although I don't think I'm really ready to make small talk with my father's lover yet.

"No, thanks, I'll head back home. I just wanted to drop this off. I don't know if you'd already started on cooking tonight, but this can go into the freezer. Don't worry about the dish - I can collect it anytime," she says quickly. "It's lovely to finally put a face to the name, although of course, I've seen plenty of pictures of you. Your father talks about you a lot," she adds.

"Thanks. He's mentioned you, too. And your son and daughter? He said maybe Leah and I could meet up sometime?"

The mention of her daughter's name makes her look more awkward than she looked turning up here holding out food like she's dispensing alms for the poor.

"Sure. Leah's a bit down at the moment - she recently broke up with her boyfriend. Maybe a new friend is just what she needs," she says, not sounding like she means it.

A few nights later it's occurred to me that Charlie hasn't spent a night at Sue's, and Sue hasn't spent a night at Charlie's. When I broach the subject he goes _maroon_.

"Oh, God, it's all right, Charlie. I know about the birds and the bees, you know. It's okay, really," I assure him. "Just keep the noise down."

Charlie purses his lips and nods, and then every few nights I have to endure lying in bed with very soft, suppressed _mating_ sounds coming from the bedroom next door, just like I had to back in Phoenix. Washington: 0. Arizona: 0. Lord save me.

But there is one possible star on the horizon. My days have been filled with reading, going for walks, going for drives, writing emails to friends back home and more reading, and finally Sue decides to introduce me to Leah and Seth.

It takes about five minutes to understand why she was so reticent.

Leah is gorgeous, intelligent, incisive, and angry. She is so fucking angry her glare could halt a charging bull elephant because it turns out her boyfriend left her for her cousin and she is in no state to make friends. Seth, on the other hand, is sweet and a little quiet, and has three pimples and is fourteen years old.

That takes me back to square one, but at least I'm not sweltering in the Arizona heathaze, I tell myself. Back to the books. There's a library an hours' drive away, and Dad has borrowed a truck I can drive whenever I want. Forks scores ahead of Phoenix.

One day I'm in the next town, Port Angeles, when I spy a fabric shop, and I get an idea. Sue has left her mark on my Dad's house by decorating my bedroom - and it's not like I'm going to just hand him over without any sort of a statement - I could make my own mark and do some decorating myself!

Curtains are what spring to mind, with my limited knowledge of what constitutes home decor. I'm standing round in front of rolls of fabric under a sign that says "Home Furnishing" with absolutely no idea of what I'm even looking at, when a girl comes up to me.

"You look lost. Can I help?"

"I need curtains," I shrug.

"Net? Sheer? Opaque? Insulated?" she says, and very quickly clues in to the fact that I don't have any idea.

"What room?" she asks, obviously deciding to take it more slowly.

"Kitchen?" I say, in such an indecisive way it comes out as a question.

"Kitchen, okay, good. What color are the counters and cupboards? Where are the windows? Over the sink? Do you have any measurements?"

She's professional and I'm hopeless.

"Where do you live?" she asks eventually. "We have a service who'll come out and measure, and then we can make them for you."

She's kind. She's about my age, and very friendly. When I tell her where Charlie's place is, she exclaims in surprise, "That's near me! I could do the measuring for you! What's your name? I'm Alice."

Things progress at a rapid place. She's organized to come over and measure every window at my Dad's place before I can so much as blink, and I leave with the dizzy feeling that she's going to perform an extreme makeover on the entire house.

Sure enough, she turns up that evening with a tape measure and gets me to hold one end while she draws out the other, making notes and talking so much I don't see how she could achieve anything.

"Come see me in the store tomorrow, Bella, and we'll talk about textures," she coos. "I already have lots of ideas."

I bet she does. I go, and she arranges a break and takes me out for coffee. She bombards me, to the point that I am overwhelmed enough to agree to anything.

"So you're here for vacation? Do you know there's a masked ball on next weekend in Forks? Costumes? I bet you thought nothing ever happened here! You have to come, I'll get you a ticket."

"I don't have anything to wear," I say faintly. "And I'm more the hermit type."

"I'll dress you. Leave it all to me. I'll come over on Saturday afternoon. I won't be able to actually arrive there with you because I'll have to go back home to fix up my boyfriend's outfit, but I'll meet you there. Please come - you have to!"

Later, I'm sitting with Dad, who's in one of his quiet moods, when he hmphs into his moustache, and says, "You know, Bella..."

I wait, because it sounds as though he wants to say something.

"You know, it's nice to have you around. You could live here if you wanted to. With me. I mean, move over here from your mother's and go to school and all. If you wanted to."

Like, _what_? I'm going to have to think about this in some depth, and not right now. He hmphs again, and I need to say something.

"Do you know about this masquerade party thing on Saturday night?" I croak.

"Hmph, yes. I mentioned to Sue that maybe you and Leah could go together, but... you've met Leah now, haven't you? I'm glad you've met someone else, Bella. Alice, did you say? She must be one of the Cullen girls. Their father's the emergency doctor at the hospital. It sounds like a fun evening - you should go."

I really don't want to. A _ball_, for chrissakes?

Besides, the longer I'm at Charlie's, the more I notice things like cobwebs in the corners, and dust on the skirting boards, and the back of the toilet being dirty. Everywhere is this general, light layer of grunge that needs dealing with. Charlie doesn't do it because Charlie doesn't see it, but damned if Sue's going to think it's _her_ job to clean up after _my_ dad. He really does need me around.

"I'll be on duty there Saturday night, Bells. It's a fine opportunity for you to have a fun night out," Dad's saying, and really, I was planning a fun night in - cleaning.

I have to go back to the fabric shop during the week to choose colors for the curtains, although once I get there Alice makes it perfectly clear that she's already chosen for me, and I didn't even need to agree. She's a steamroller.

"And for the ball, I've decided on your outfit. I've already started making it. Not that I've been perving on you or anything, but I can see what size you are. When can we have a fitting?" she says.

"I'm pretty busy the rest of the week," doing exactly nothing.

"I'll guess then. I'm good at it," she answers brightly, not put off in the slightest. "Do you have flesh-colored underwear? I mean like_ your_ flesh, Bella. _Ivory_."

"Not really."

"Well, go down to the department store now and buy some."

Does she have Aspergers? She is simply not picking up that I don't want to go.

Then Saturday comes and she arrives at the door with armfuls of floaty, colorful stuff draped about the place and I let her in, curious at last. Why the special request lingerie? Is she envisaging something transparent?

I've showered, and I stand there nervously in bra and panties, and Alice pulls a bit of flimsy nothing over my head. It's shapeless and floor length, a sort of petticoat with shoulder straps, in fire engine red. She has another one the same, in orange. Then cerise. Then yellow. Then she winds long swathes of all of them around my shoulders and down each arm, securing them at my wrists. Bits trail off, wafting about me when I raise my arms.

"You're from Phoenix, right?" she says. "You're the firebird."

She twists strands of colored fabrics into my hair, and lets the ends dangle over my back and chest. She binds more of them around me, so that the formless garment becomes suddenly tight across my breasts, around my waist, and over my hips. I'm not sure what I look like - perhaps living flames. She even has shoes for me - they're bright red, with heels to give me elevation. I'll barely be able to walk, let alone dance, but right now I feel like a vision. She draws an outline of my lips and fills them in with what surely must be ruby blood, and gives me a golden eyemask.

"I'll see you there, Bella darling!" she calls.

There are two hours to go. I daren't move, in case I upset some part of her marvellous creation and it falls off, and I'm left standing there in my ivory underwear. I inspect my fingernails, which seems safe enough. That takes about twenty seconds, even with lavishing twice the time on them that I normally would.

I mince to the refrigerator, and then realize that I can actually walk quite freely. Clever Alice has cut the dress lengths generously enough to allow me some leg room. Just as well, since I have to get my legs a fair way apart to climb into my truck, and that's my only mode of transport.

Reading takes up another hour, and watching the clock takes up another twenty minutes, and then I figure I can leave. I don't want to be early, but Alice has said, "Oh, I'm never late anywhere because I don't want to miss a thing," and while that's not a philosophy I've ever adopted, it beats sitting around here on the cushions that Charlie won't recognize once they've been Alice-ified.

Alice gave me detailed instructions to the venue which I find without any trouble at all, as there's only one road in town that leads there. She said things like, past the big spooky tree that's stretching its arms out, and round the bend shaped like a question mark and it's the place with the windows full of party lights.

There are already plenty of cars there, and I park, and nervously head on in.

I needn't have worried. A pretty marionette appears instantly and twirls about me, taking me to get a drink, finding me a seat, introducing me in a lilting musical Alice-voice to her Harlequin, Jasper.

I spot Leah, just by the blazing way her head is set on her shoulders. She has come as some sort of animal, in a tight, silvery colored one-piece suit, with ears and a tail. I'm a little worried for her boyfriend's new girlfriend, with Leah looking the way she is. I'm a little worried for anybody who tries to stand in her way, quite frankly.

And then out of the crush of bodies, and the rising swirl of the music someone comes towards me. It's a guy, in a kind of a tunic, belted at the hips, with trousers underneath and boots, and he has a sword at his side and a circlet of gold on his head. A prince. His mouth and jaw and cheekbones - every bit of his face that's visible, are lovely. He has reddish hair sticking waywardly all over the place, like even his own command couldn't subdue it, and he's tall and slender, and he's heading straight for me.

"I saw you come in, and I wanted to talk to you," he says, holding out a hand and drawing me to my feet. "Are you a fire spirit?"

"A fire _bird_. A phoenix," I answer, allowing myself to be pulled up.

"Can I get you a drink? Not that you need quenching," he says, and there's a table only a few yards away, covered in bottles and icebuckets and glasses and tumblers.

"I don't know you, do I?" he asks, ladelling some sparkling beverage with fruit in it out of a bowl and into a glass for me.

"No. I'm wearing a masque. That's more or less the idea," I reply, and gulp the drink. I think it's got forty gallons of vodka in it, and maybe the juice of half a freshly squeezed orange. And fifty gallons of brandy, plus a chopped apple. Too much of this and I'll be sorry.

"Well, that's taken care of the refreshments. Would you like to dance?" the prince asks me, and I look hesitantly towards the centre of the room. The music is very old-fashioned, and people are doing formal dancing where they hold on to each other.

"I don't know the steps. I never learned this stuff," I say. "Besides, I'm kind of not that great at dancing."

"Don't worry about it," he smiles. "I'll lead. This is way easier than modern free form stuff, honestly. No-one can look graceless, or - "

I've managed to look graceless within moments, and he nods like he's impressed.

"Okay, only the most rare and talented performers are able to de-co-ordinate themselves. Congratulations."

It seems he wants to keep talking to me, and that's fine by me. In the spirit of the evening we don't discuss anything personal. He asks who my favorite film director is, and we go from there.

"I love Tarantino's immediacy but the gratuity just gets - well, gratuitous. Same with the Coen brothers. I'll watch anything by Burton or Luhrmann just for what they look like. I like things that are arthouse and European and dense..."

"What about British films?"

We talk and twirl, with his hold on me firm enough that he prevents any stumbling on my part, and yet so light that it's unobtrusive.

Off in the distance somewhere Columbine and Harlequin spin under the chandeliers, and I catch a glimpse of Leah too, dancing with her brother. Seth is all in black, and he's supposed to be a ninja, but he's also the cutest fourteen year old I've ever seen and he makes me feel like I could have a future as a cradle-snatcher. Leah has such a sinewy strong body and amazing way of moving that even on the dance floor she looks like she's prowling.

The prince and I seem to have a tacit agreement that we won't mention names, so even though I'd like to ask which one is Sam, the guy who dumped Leah, I feel as though I can't.

My feet are starting to hurt a little now, from the unaccustomed pressure on the balls of my feet from wearing heels, and I tell the heir to the throne that I need a rest. That's his cue to leave me somewhere and go off and find someone else to hang out with if he wants to, but he doesn't go anywhere.

"Sure, sure, let's sit down. Or would you like to go outside?" he asks.

Somewhere outside my Dad is either sitting his patrol car waiting for any signs of trouble, or walking around the building looking for signs of trouble. I don't know how protective he feels of me, but I decide this is not the time to find out.

"Inside is fine," I answer.

The whole evening passes in a blur of smiling and laughing and conversation. Alice pops by and drags me away to giggle, saying, "You seem to be getting on with _someone_ rather well," which I can't deny.

Leah comes past too, and shakes her head darkly. "That's how it starts," she mutters.

Later I see her with a really tall guy, when the music has changed, and she is winding herself around him. She must have either found herself a distraction, or she's hoping Sam will see her and get jealous. There's always the slightest chance she might actually like this person, but there's no real reason to think that that might be the case.

My prince continues to pay me attention, and even admits with a laugh that he's monopolizing me. It's true.

"Royalty itself is a bit of a monopoly, isn't it?" I ask him. "Monopolizing on rule."

He smirks, and the sprinkles of lights cast by the chandeliers play in his hair. "Another dance, Firebird?" he asks.

I would, and I stand to join him but after a few steps I realize I've developed a blister at the back of one foot, where the heel strap of my borrowed shoe is digging into me.

When I exclaim and stagger against him he looks down with concern.

"My foot hurts!" I almost whine.

I sit again and he kneels at my feet, gently easing my shoe off.

"Lucky for you when I was a very young prince, with a personal tutor to teach me diplomacy and swordfighting I also learned medicine," he says gravely. "This is a grievous wound, but a bandaid should hold you together until I can get you to the hospital for stitches. Wait here and I'll see if I can find a first aid kit."

Almost as soon as he's gone there's a commotion at the main entrance, and I stand with one shoe still on, balancing with the toes of the other foot.

Three people have come in, and none of them are masked, although they're dressed like they knew it was a themed party. One's in head-to-toe denim, one's all in leather like a bikie, and the girl with them is in a sort of hippie, Janis Joplin get-up. Are they gatecrashers or are they just late? They head straight for the table with the alcohol, and grab bottles, drinking thirstily.

"Well well, what a nice kiddies' party," Blueboy sneers, with red wine running down his chin. Surely he can't be friends with anyone here? He was obviously drunk before he got here, and he looks a little deranged.

"I am the Pirate King!" he declares loudly. "Who's going to be my pretty tonight? You, Marigold, come and be friendly."

To my horror, I'm the one he's got his eye on. He lurches over and grabs my arm, but my father has appeared, and is standing next to me.

"Now, son. This is a private function, and you should be on your way."

The newcomer looks my dad up and down dismissively. "Good costume, dude, but your badge is crooked. You don't worry me. I'll leave when I'm ready."

Charlie seems perfectly at ease, which amazes me.

"It's not a costume son, and I can arrest you for criminal trespass, which is a gross misdemeanor carrying a maximum penalty of six months prison and a five thousand dollar fine. Just try me," he says, almost pleasantly. You wouldn't be fooled for an instant if you could see the look in his eyes, though. They're like steel.

The denim guy with a blond ponytail seems to be considering his options.

In the meantime, though, his friends aren't being quite so sensible. There's a loud crash as the girl throws a bottle at the wall, smashing it.

"DJ! Your music is shit! Play something louder!" she screeches.

"Bella, get out of here before it turns ugly. I'll see you at home," Dad orders me under his breath, as he takes the handcuffs off his belt. Another police officer is approaching us, but I can see there's only two of them there.

There isn't time for me to notice much else, because the third of the gatecrashers suddenly leaps on the back of the other officer, knocking him down. All hell breaks loose when a couple of guys go for the dreadlocked leather guy and grab him by his arms, but the girl pulls a knife.

"How about you just let my friend go?" she purrs, and Blueboy produces a knife, too.

This is getting ugly, all right. I guess Dad's got an instinct for knowing when situations are going to go bad.

I don't want to leave him there, but he's trained, and he's armed and I'm neither.

Not that I get to weigh it all up in my mind, because Leah has taken my wrist, and she has her other hand clamped around Seth's right arm.

"Are you fucking stupid? We need to get out of here," she hisses at me, and pulls me unceremoniously towards what must be a back entrance. I've only got one shoe on so I'm awkward and limping, and she keeps swearing at me. I crane around trying to see Alice, and to catch a last glimpse of my prince, but it's pandemonium in there now.

"How did you get here? Which is your car?" Leah's saying, and she sounds mad.

"Red chevy," I mutter.

"Billy Black's truck? Right. Get in, put your foot down, and don't stop until you're home."

I try to thank her, but she interrupts.

"Listen, Lily-Cheeks, you're a dick. Did you think that was some sort of Broadway show back there? Don't thank me, thank the fact that my Mom wants to shack up with your Dad. If he couldn't keep his mind on the job because his precious daughter was gawping at an armed trespass like it was Entertainment Tonight, he could get seriously injured. And then my Mom would be _not happy_."

Leah is literally shoving me into the cab of the truck. Seth is standing around looking freaked.

"My mother is a _widow_. Charlie getting a knife stuck in him would just about _kill_ her," Leah rants.

I do as she's ordered me to - I put my foot down, and I speed all the way back to Charlie's hose, safe in the knowledge that no-one will come after me. They'll all be heading to the disturbance at the party.

It's not long after midnight when I get home, and only about half an hour later, which is how long it took me to untie myself from my lovely flame dress, Charlie's home too. He looks tired, but he's intact.

"Idiots. They were high," he sighs, as he sinks into an armchair.

"What happened? Are you okay? Is everyone okay?" I ask anxiously.

"No-one was hurt, Bella. Our back-up arrived within minutes - and anyway, those fools were outsiders. In towns like this, people stick together. Those hoodlums were disarmed by locals, and the whole thing was over in minutes. Now they're facing serious charges. I'm still glad you got out of there, though, because things could have taken a turn for the worse. I've seen so little of you... I couldn't bear anything happening to you... "

He does his hmph noises into his moustache, and I'm getting the hang of it now. He does it when he's revealed something he feels self-conscious about.

I'm just so glad he's okay. I fuss over him a little, until he's embarrassed - but really, I've only had a dad for the past couple of weeks. I can fuss a little, can't I?

There's another thing I feel a little fussed about too, but I don't want to mention it to Charlie. I got rushed out of there so fast I didn't even see what happened to the Prince, and I missed the big Unmasking that was supposed to happen at the end of the night. Probably everyone else there knew who he was, but I didn't. I'm so disappointed I could scream, until it occurs to me Alice probably knows everyone here in Po-Dunk. How many tall red-haired guys can one small town have? Am I possessed of enough courage to ask her who he was? Will she be mad at me about the shoe?

On Sunday I go back to the hall to see if I can find the missing article of footwear, but the place is all locked up. First thing Monday morning I'm there again, and a kind lady lets me in.

"I was here on Friday night - " I begin, but I don't get any further.

"You were here at the _dance_? When the _business_ happened with those horrible _people_? Did you _see_ them?" she gushes. This is accompanied by head shakes and tut-tuts.

"And _who_ are you? You're from out-of-_town_, aren't you? I've lived here all my _life_ and I know everybody. You have a familiar _look_ about you, though. Oh,_ I_ know! You're Chief _Swan's_ daughter - of _course_!"

I try again, but I only manage, "Yes, I - I - I - " and it sounds as though I have a bad stutter.

"I'm Mrs _Cope_, and isn't that a funny contradiction, because honestly, I don't _know_ how I cope!"

Then I get her opinion of events, some local history, a smattering of her life story, and a generous insight into her worldview. Her inflections are all over the place. She emphasizes at least one word in every sentence, sometimes several. It's like she's invented an eleven tone version of the English language. It's about twenty minutes before I can explain what I've come there for.

"A _shoe_? No, I got here on Sunday to clean _up_, do the _sweeping_ you know, and a couple of men from nearby who _volunteer_ came in as well to pack up the tables and stack the chairs, and _nobody_ mentioned a _shoe_. If one turns up, I'll have it sent to the _police_ station, shall I?"

After I get out of there, I head straight to Alice's shop to give her the bad news.

Strangely, she's not surprised, and she's not in the least bothered that she lent me a pair of shoes and I lost one of them.

"Oh, I've got a feeling it'll turn up," she shrugs.

I hover, hands in pockets, biting my lip and trying to summon courage to ask about my mysterious dancing partner, and unfortunately she says, "Was there anything else Bella? There's kind of a couple of people waiting at the counter... I really should get to them."

"Oh, yeah, of course. No, nothing," I assure her. Damn!

I go to the library and return a couple of books, wondering if it's worth getting any more out. I've only got two more days here, then it's back to Momtown, and the ReneePhil love machine. In the end, I just get in my truck somewhat despondently, and return to Charlie's.

When there's a knock on the door, I'm making meatballs for Charlie's dinner, and my hands are covered in a sticky mess of ground beef, onion, parsley and flour. I grab a cloth and wipe one hand clean enough to turn the door handle.

There are only two people it could be. One: it's Sue, saying "Hello, Bella darling, I'm just dropping something around for your dinner to save you the bother of cooking. It's fish, just the way Charlie likes it with oregano and lemon and chili." And I'll say, "Oh lovely. Big fat trout."

Or two: it's Leah, saying, "Listen Lily-cheeks, you're a dick," and I'll say," Yes, I heard you the first time, when you saved me from jumping headfirst into a brawl, and potentially upsetting your mother. Only you missed something out. I think you also meant to call me Lame-ass."

There's a third possibility of course. Mrs _Cope_.

But actually, it's none of those. It's my lost shoe. I blink rapidly, and then notice the hand holding it. It's not actually floating in mid-air - my gaze travels up an arm to a shoulder, then higher, to a head with unruly red hair. I blink a few more times, because this has got to be my prince. He's got the cheekbones. And you know how the word prince in fairy tales is so often preceded by the word handsome? Boy, does he deserve it.

"Hey," he says, smiling, but the smile fades when I don't respond. Around Mrs Cope I developed a speech impediment, around handsome princes it appears that I become a selective mute.

"It's you, right?" he asks, uncertainly.

"Uh," I answer.

"You're the firebird? And this is your shoe?"

"Uh." It's easier to talk to Leah, I swear. It's also easier to talk to handsome princes when they have masks on, so you can't see the handsome.

"My name's Edward."

God, I've gotta give the poor guy a break. "I'm Bella."

I hold my hand out for him to shake, and realize belatedly that's it's covered in meatball mixture. He grimaces through a grin.

"Uh," I say, brightly. This is so not how I envisaged a conversation with him would run.

"Well, anyway. Just thought I'd return the shoe. Nice to meet you," he says, looking bemused, and he turns to go.

Don't leave! It's about time I remembered how to talk. Think, brain, _think_!

"Would you like to come in and wash your hands?"

Praise the Lord, I said something relevant, and containing syllables.

"Oh - yes, actually. Thanks."

I show him in, and my brain returns, sort of.

"I'm making meatballs. It's a special recipe. Not everyone gets the meatball handshake, you know, it's reserved for royalty. You're the only person alive in mainland America who's ever received it."

Oh brain, _this_ is what you come up with?

"Well, that's certainly an honor, then. Shouldn't there be a press conference and photographers to commemorate the event?"

He's joining in with my idiocy, bless him. He was well brought up.

"No, we keep these things low-key. The recipe is a specially guarded secret, you see. We couldn't have some spy disguised as a reporter rushing in with a spatula and scraping a sample of the mixture from your fingers, and then analyzing it. They might put it on WikiLeaks."

She said what? Gag me with a spoon. Gag me with a boulder three feet in diameter. Gag me and put me in a barrel and throw me off Niagara Falls, I am such a dick. Leah was right.

But Prince Edward grins at me from the kitchen sink, wipes his hands, and says, "Do you need me to help? I'm a kitchen whizz, honestly."

And he stays. The stupid conversation continues until it's epically ridiculous, and then we switch to something else, and still he stays. Charlie rings and says he'll be late, and Edward stays for dinner, and he stays until eleven o'clock.

My cheeks hurt from laughing at him, and I have had the best night of my life, bar none. Forks: Heaps. Phoenix: Not much. And then somewhere along the line when I was interrogating Edward as to how he tracked me down he admitted that Alice is his sister, and she told him how to find me. I decide I will give her my firstborn child.

But the real world comes crashing down around my ears, when he asks, "So, do you have any free time this weekend? You want to meet up?"

This weekend I'll be doing laundry, reading, eating, blah blah blah. Nothing much, so yes, I'll have a lot of free time. Trouble is, I'll be in Phoenix. I mentally rip up my plane ticket, and cancel the booking. I mentally call my mother, "Oh, hey Mom, I might stay here a few more days, if that's okay. Gonna hang with Dad a little longer."

Edward is watching me expectantly, and I wonder if he's holding his breath. I am.

I mentally call my mother back, "Oh, hey Mom, actually, I'm kinda planning to stay at least another week or two."

He's definitely holding his breath. He has started to look anxious while I mentally call my mother.

I need to imaginary-speak to her again. "Mom, Forks is all kinds of cool and I've made a coupla friends and the high school is really, really good, and Dad's said he'd like for me to move here and live with him, and so, yeah, that's what I'm going to do."

And now Dad's doing an imaginary hmph, while looking very pleased.

Having settled things with both parents, in _my_ mind at least, I can finally answer Edward, who is frowning and looking furtively at the door, like if I say no he's going to make a run for it.

"This weekend would be great. I'm not busy at all. I'd love to meet up," I tell him, and that beautiful boy positively beams. It's gorgeous.

And Leah was right again. That's how it starts.


End file.
